The War Mask
(The masque of war)
Seattle's words lost in an endless ocean of TV. Ponder the future -- or else past's errs repeat. Long the journey into darkness, Easy the way of hatred and war. And what of a man who was far from tidy? Has his message been over-written too? The prophet, the saviour, the moses -- all just convenient confetti for a war's parade.
Poom, Poom, Poom begin the reverberate-ing drrums of war.
The call goes out for blood --- blood to help the surviors. And then blood calls out for more --- this to run red on Earth's green carpet. Until there is no more to flow. Is this to be our fate?
My words are sure to offend, (for surely, Shirley), I feel and am cut and die. For from the pen in my hand flows the collective un-consicous that sinks back into a comfortable chair and watches TV's re-assure-ing glow -- as little sparkler lights reveal our technical victory.... Until. The next generation bides its time. And again, the drums will sound their way -- demanding more blood, a finer, richer, newer sacrifice to the god of war.
